


Walkürenritt: the Ride of the Valkyries

by Ellegrine



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Tim Drake, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Tim Drake, Jason Todd Feels, Jason Todd-centric, M/M, Mates, Mutual Pining, Never Repost My Work Anywhere, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Jason Todd, Omega Verse, Operas, POV Jason Todd, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Protective Tim Drake, Resurrected Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22937191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellegrine/pseuds/Ellegrine
Summary: After everything Jason did, aftereverything,can Tim actually want Jason as his Mate? Is … is that even in the realm of possibility?
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 33
Kudos: 737





	Walkürenritt: the Ride of the Valkyries

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【授翻】女武神的騎行 (Timjay，Jason中心，A提O桶)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311917) by [thesoleil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesoleil/pseuds/thesoleil)

> The title comes from Act 3 of the Richard Wagner Opera _Die Walküre._

Jason Todd sits in the plush, velvet seat in the Wayne Pack Box of the Gotham Opera House. Tears prickle his eyes as Act 2 of  _ Die Walküre  _ comes to an end. The lights in the Opera House come on for intermission, but Jason can’t tear his eyes away from the swaying velvet curtains.

It’s so beautiful that it hurts.

He’s wearing a bespoke suit, sitting in the most prestigious Opera House on the East Coast, in the Wayne Pack’s personal box, and it’s the opera itself that awes him. Coming back from the dead was worth it. Everything he suffered through was worth it to experience such passionate beauty. 

A tear trickles down his cheek.

“Are you okay, Jason?” Tim Drake asks, before clasping Jason’s shoulder tightly. “Is it too soon after everything? I will take you home right now if you say the word.”

The drama of the past month resurfaces in his mind.

His miraculous return from the dead (as well as his subsequent presentation as an Omega) resulted in some truly insulting headlines. Jason pushes the lurid tabloid claims out of his thoughts, as he’s been doing for weeks now. Nothing the pathetic excuses for journalists come up with will be anywhere near as fantastical as what really happened to him. 

“Don’t make me leave,” Jason states.

He knows all the Alphas in the Wayne Pack are taking his presentation hard; it’s messing with everyone’s instincts. None of them are accustomed to having a Pack Omega yet, and it’s a definite adjustment. 

Jason’s having the hardest time adjusting. 

As the Wayne Pack Omega, he can’t live outside the Manor. It would  _ literally _ hurt the Pack for the Pack Bonds to be stretched so far. His Packmates would go feral, thinking he’s been kidnapped and needs saving. And Jason would feel abandoned and slowly waste away.

Omegas are a responsibility once taken into a Pack; it’s not something to be undertaken lightly.

“I won’t if you want to stay,” Tim promises, before rubbing Jason’s neck soothingly.

He’s not used to so much physical contact. Before Jason presented, they used to let him have his space. It’s rarer these days. Now, he can’t even read in the library without one of them crawling into his lap to be petted and soothed.

Jason is honored to be so trusted. He loves them. 

But— 

It’s terrifying at the same time — how the Pack went from slightly wary around him to offering him their throats to calm him down whenever he wakes from a nightmare with the taste of worms and dirt thick on his tongue.

“Ah, Timothy. It’s been a while since you’ve made use of Bruce’s box.”

Gritting his teeth, Jason fights back the growl in his throat. 

It’s extremely poor manners to enter a private box without being invited. Unlike the rest of the opera house, which is public, a personal box is scented by Pack. It’s a familiar-smelling place in public. It smelled so much like Tim when they stepped in it tonight that Jason had immediately relaxed, despite all the eyes on them. 

(He doesn’t know when Tim had time to slip away and scent it before their arrival, but he’s so, so grateful that Tim did.)

“Yes, it has,” Tim says in the tone of voice he uses when someone says something that’s painfully obvious and he feels socially obligated to respond.

Jason smirks when Tim doesn’t offer his hand to the interloper. 

Tim excels at small talk; Jason knows he hates it. For how well-crafted his public mask is, Jason knows Tim loathes high society social obligations. Even more than that, Tim can’t stand people who intrude on private Pack spaces. If the man — an Alpha with an overcompensating false Alpha musk cologne on — has any business with Wayne Enterprises, Jason is sure Tim will sunder all business contracts and find a better partner. 

“This must be the Wayne Omega!” the Alpha says, something slimy in his tone that Jason can almost feel on his skin as the Alpha peruses him like he’s a thoroughbred racehorse for sale.

“That’s not—”

“Some cohorts and I were wondering when we can expect the auction announcement for his first heat.”

_ What? _

Did he … did he really just say that? Right in front of Jason? To Tim’s face?

Oh, wow. This Alpha must have balls the size of bowling balls. There is no other reason Jason can fathom for why the Alpha would dare to interrupt Tim while he was speaking, and then ask to  _ buy Jason’s first heat. _

Tim smiles. The temperature in the Wayne Pack Box drops twenty degrees. “You were, were you?”

He presses a lever on his seat; a thick, velvety bench extends from the bottom of it off to one side. Jason loves watching Tim cut Alphas down to size, so he gets out of his seat and kneels at Tim’s side on the traditional Omega-Bench. This is going to be glorious.

Jason purrs when Tim rakes his fingers through Jason’s hair, a blush dusting on his cheeks. There’s no doubt Dick Grayson will comment on his rucked hair, which smells more and more like Tim with every drag of Tim’s wrist against his scalp. He’s not looking forward to the teasing. 

Why did Dick have to figure out Jason’s crush anyway? 

“Yes. We figured it would be soon,” the Alpha says with a salacious leer, “but no one has received their invitation yet. Are you planning a private auction instead?”

Jason wants to gut the bastard. He doesn’t. They’re in much too public a venue for that kind of primitive behavior. But, oh, he wants to.

Tim tugs on Jason’s curls, pulling a soft whine from him. He realizes it’s just for show. Yet, if Jason will ever willingly kneel for an Alpha, it will be for Tim, the Alpha who defended himself while Jason was Pit Mad, but never once struck out against him with the intention to harm. 

“You expected invitations?” Tim asks frostily, something so dangerous in his tone that Jason’s not sure if the Alpha is brave or stupid for not backing away, eyes trained on Tim the whole time.

Tim’s warm hand cups Jason's neck and tilts his head. Cool metal kisses across Jason’s skin. It takes everything Jason has not to gasp in disbelief as Tim wraps a jeweled leash around his throat and locks it. Leashes are not for Pack Omegas. Leashes are only ever for an Alpha’s treasured Omega Mate.

This is — it’s — 

Jason closes his eyes to keep in the tears and leans his cheek on Tim’s thigh as Tim’s fingers burrow back into his hair.

It’s a ruse. He knows it is. 

But … but he’s the Wayne Pack Omega. 

And Timothy Wayne-Drake just  _ leashed him. _

It’s the most flattered Jason has ever been in his life, even as it hurts. He’s going to cherish every single second until Tim unleashes him. Jason is going to burn this night in his memory: the feel of the metal around his neck, Tim’s calloused fingers petting his hair, the scent of Tim overpowering the other Alpha  _ without _ artificial enhancements.

If Tim keeps petting him, Jason is going to smell  _ owned  _ by the time  _ Die Walküre  _ is over.

“I don’t … understand,” the Alpha says, smelling frustrated and — perhaps he isn’t entirely stupid — wary.

“That’s obvious. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have just offered to pay me for the right to service my Omega Mate,” Tim says, voice so sharp and cutting that Jason expects to smell copper-blood-pain as the words shoot off Tim’s tongue.

“I-I would n-never—”

“Yet, you did,” Tim interrupts, smelling like frostbite-rage even as he gently scratches Jason’s scalp.

Jason rubs his cheek against Tim’s thigh and smirks. Why is this idiot still here? Not even Bruce can out-argue Tim. That’s how Tim ended up as Robin in the first place!

He’s carefully not-thinking about Tim’s verbal claim on him. He reminds himself it’s all a ruse, Tim’s Alpha-instincts demanding he keep the Pack Omega safe from an interloper Alpha who thought he could buy Jason’s heat, like purchasing breeding rights for a purebred show dog.

“Please accept my sincerest apolog—”

_ “No.” _

Tim’s face is calm as Jason looks up at him, but it somehow puts Damian Wayne’s most vicious sneer to shame. 

“Now  _ go away, _ before your attempt to mask your own weak scent with an overabundance of Alpha pheromone cologne turns Jason’s stomach. If you make him ill, I’ll ruin you.” Tim glares through his bangs and hums. “More than I’m already going to.”

The Alpha does the smartest thing he’s done all night and exits their box in a rush.

“Your first heat isn’t for sale, Jason. None of them are,” Tim states, matter-of-fact.

“I know,” Jason replies. 

The thought has never even entered his mind since his presentation. Not only would  _ he _ never agree to such a thing, but  _ they _ would never ask it of him — not for any reason, not even a mission. Things he might’ve had to worry about if he was never adopted into the Wayne Pack don’t apply to him anymore.

Tim’s fingers slip out of his hair and trail down his neck. Jason fights down a shiver.

As soon as Tim touches the leash, though, Jason blurts out, “Don’t take it off.” 

It’s barely more than a whisper, but Tim’s fingers instantly still against his skin. Because … if it’s a ruse, why does Tim have a platinum and sapphire leash? Why would he have it in the pocket of his overcoat on a night where they aren’t undercover? They’re at the opera house as Timothy Drake-Wayne and Jason Todd, not any of their other false identities in disguise. So … so why does Tim have an Omega-Leash that costs — at a quick glance — seven million dollars?

Unless—

Tim grasps Jason’s chin and tilts his head up, until Jason’s gaze meets his. Tim’s voice is calm but firm, and his scent is protective-mine — locked-down so that Jason can’t smell his emotions at all. It’s disconcerting. He doesn’t like when his Packmates do that.

“Jason, either the leash comes off now and you return to your seat for the rest of the opera—”

“Or?” Jason interrupts, unable to help himself. 

Because if this is going where he hopes it’s going, then he wants the second option.  _ Desperately. _

Is there really a chance that Tim wants him? Not only wants him, but wants to keep him? After everything Jason did, after  _ everything, _ can Tim actually want Jason as his Mate? Is … is that even in the realm of possibility?

“Or the leash stays on, you watch the rest of the opera from where you are, and you’re  _ mine.” _

Jason struggles to keep his scent under control, but  _ like hell _ is he going to let all these high society people know what he’s really feeling. This isn’t something that he wants to broadcast. He doesn’t want this to be gossiped about behind opera gloves through painted lips.

For all that this is happening in public, Jason can’t think of anything more private than choosing an Alpha Mate and submitting.

“I—”

Tim shushes Jason with a finger against his lips and growls, that dark and dangerous thing back in his eyes,  _ “Be sure, Jason.” _

The orchestra conductor taps her baton on the music stand before her. The orchestra begins to play the interlude for Act 3 of the opera: Walkürenritt — the Ride of the Valkyries.

It’s the easiest decision that he’s made in years. It’s so easy, it almost shouldn’t be called a decision at all. 

Jason pulls away and kisses Tim’s fingertips.  _ “Don’t.” _ Kiss.  _ “Take.” _ Kiss.  _ “It.” _ Kiss.  _ “Off.” _ Kiss.  _ “Alpha.” _

He leans his head against Tim’s leg as Tim corrals his own scent to stay inside their private box. Tim’s scent screams cherished-protective-mine. Jason treasures it and Tim’s promise of, “I won’t, Jason.”

A wicked smirk curls Jason’s lips as a thought occurs to him. “Bruce is going to be  _ pissed _ that you didn’t ask for permission.”

Tim chuckles and tugs lightly on the leash; desire pools in Jason’s gut at the feeling of the metal leash against his skin, pressing down against his Mating Gland with each soft pull.

“I asked the day you presented, Jason.”

Act 3 begins; Jason can’t hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat thumping in his ears.


End file.
